


Sweater Weather

by alexenglish



Category: One Direction (Band), The Voice (Ireland) RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Canon Compliant, Clothed Sex, Face-Sitting, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sharing Clothes, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:58:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8255122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: Niall knows how he looks, cross-legged on the couch with the guitar on his lap; all skinny chicken legs, knobby knees, and Bressie’s giant jumper. It’s the kind of thing Bressie is really, really into --





	

**Author's Note:**

> getting into a new fandom means diving head-first into the nearest rarepair, right? right! anyway, Niall Breslin wore [THIS](https://www.instagram.com/p/BK_jwEnjOAu/) sweater and then porn happened. as it does.
> 
> many thanks to Jo and Lon for their unbridled enthusiasm, encouragement, and mutual screaming. unbeta'd and probably way too American.

“Well, look at you,” Bressie says, snapping Niall out of the songwriting haze he was in. He keeps his fingers on the fretboard, pinning down his current chord, as he grins at Bressie and takes in all 1.98m of him -- wide shoulders leaning against the wall, one big hand shoved into his pocket while the other curls around the strap of his bag. 

He looks good, powder blue button up shirt hugging his shoulders and biceps tightly, thighs gift-wrapped in those dark-wash jeans of his. Niall’s mouth is watering a little.

Sometimes when he's been away, he forgets how truly massive Bressie is. In pictures, he looks tall, sure, but not big like he is -- not commanding all the space, demanding all of Niall's attention.

“Look at _you_ ,” Niall echoes, with a sideways grin. His heart's rattling around in his rib cage, palms going damp and weird like he’s anxious. It’s not anxiety tripping up his spine, though -- more like excitement, anticipation.

“This is nothing spectacular,” Bressie says, dropping his bag on the floor and coming closer. Niall tips his head up to watch Bressie, giddy with him in the room. It’s been forever, it feels like; Niall’s missed Bressie something fucking fierce. “You on the other hand…”

“Me?” Niall asks, innocently. He hums and strums the guitar a couple of times. “Oh, yeah. I like this jumper, Big.”

Niall really does. It’s huge, he’s practically swimming in it; maroon, cable knit or somethin’ like that. The material isn’t too heavy, but it feels like a hug, warm and soft. Kind of a bitch to play guitar in, with the way the arms are loose, but he’s got the cuffs pushed up to his elbows to keep them out of the way. 

He knows how he looks, cross-legged on the couch with the guitar on his lap; all skinny chicken legs, knobby knees, and Bressie’s giant jumper. It’s the kind of thing Bressie is really, _really_ into -- the possessive arsehole. 

“Got anything under that?” Bressie asks, all low and grinning in that sweet way of his as he sinks to his knees in front of the couch. Something hot and tingling curls up in Niall’s stomach at the sight. Bressie’s hand settles over Niall’s knee, warm and large, thumb skating over the top of his scar.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Niall says, with a laugh, picking out more notes. He feels like being a shit, so he plays through the song he was trying to write, strumming the slow melody. It’s winding, meandering through chords aimlessly, bright and happy. It takes a long minute, but Bressie waits patiently, watching him with soft eyes. 

“I would,” Bressie says, when Niall stops with a flourish, like Niall didn’t interrupt him with three quarters of a song. “That was nice by t’ way.”

“Thanks, it’s new,” Niall admits, flushing. 

“Got anything in mind?” Bressie asks, carelessly curious while Niall gets more warm, forcing himself not to fidget. His fingers pick out another bar distractedly.

“Nah, just writin’,” Niall lies, instead of saying, _you_ , because this thing with Bressie isn’t like that, not really. It’s not about declarations in the form of soppy tunes, or even any declarations at all. It’s about the hot look in Bressie’s eyes when Niall puts the guitar back on its stand next to the couch and stretches, hem of the jumper pulling higher up his slim thighs.

“Done with that, then?” Bressie asks, with a grin. Probably smug because he knows the answer, knows when he’s in the room, Niall can’t keep himself from climbing him like a big ol’ tree. 

“Yeah, done,” Niall says, rocking forward quickly so he can wrap his arms around Bressie’s neck, sliding his fingers through the short hairs at his nape. Niall presses his nose to Bressie’s pulse point, inhaling the scent of him -- leather and old cologne and clean sweat. 

Shaving was a good idea, Niall thinks, feeling the rasp of Bressie’s stubble against his soft cheek and neck, making his nerves sing. He loves the rough scrape of Bressie’s short beard and the hard grip of his hands contrasting with all the gentle, soft, warm bits of him. All the pieces that Niall craves when he’s away. 

Bressie’s long arm curling around him, blunt of his fingers digging into Niall’s opposite hip, crushing him in a hug. It always makes Niall feel so small when Bressie’s wrapped around him like this, clinging to him. 

Like maybe he missed Niall just as much as Niall missed him. Like maybe he missed Niall in all the same ways Niall missed him. 

Naill pulls away from the hug enough to kiss Bressie hard, cupping the back of his neck to keep him in place as Niall bites down on his bottom lip, eyes open enough to see the way Bressie’s eyelashes flutter when he does. 

Bressie might not get as red as Niall does, but he flushes pink and pretty when Niall’s rough with him; when he leaves bruises and scratches like he has a right to lay claim to Bressie’s skin during the rare moments they’re together.

“Oh, it’s like that?” Bressie asks, with a low chuckle, tone teasing. Niall nods and noses Bressie’s chin to the side so he can nip at Bressie’s neck. Too soft to really drive him crazy, but enough to have him groaning. 

The grip Bressie has on him gets tighter as he stands, dragging Niall up with him. Niall’s legs untangle from the pretzel that he was in, and his feet settle on the floor. Standing up, the jumper barely covers the curve of his bum, and doesn’t do much to hide the way his cock is fattening up from kissing Bressie -- like he’s 17 again, with a crush the size of the moon, all starry eyed and well on his way to smitten. 

Niall rocks onto his toes so he can tug Bressie down for another hot kiss, ignoring all that emotional constipation. He distracts himself. Keeps the kiss wet enough to be dirty, and dirty enough to make excitement sit heavily in the bottom of his stomach. 

“Want me to lay you out right here, chief?” Bressie asks, with a grin. Niall’s gripping his biceps tight, not wanting him to go anywhere. Niall’s got half a mind to jump up on him and wrap his legs around Bressie’s thick waist so he can grind off against Bressie’s abs. Bressie would probably hold him in place and let Niall hump his stomach if Niall _really_ wanted to, but he’s got other things on his mind. 

“Maybe,” Niall laughs, whole body a tangle of nerves. “Or maybe I want you to take me to your bedroom, so you can fuck me properly.”

“I can do that,” Bressie says, very seriously, stepping away, holding Niall at arms length and just _looking_ at him. Bressie’s gaze sweeps down Niall’s frame slowly -- like he’s savoring the view. 

Niall thinks about his skinny legs and the flush he can feel on his cheeks, and tugs down the sleeves of the jumper, curling his fingers into the cuffs self-consciously. The intent behind Bressie’s stare making Niall feel feverish with want, skin hot and goose pimpled; he’s embarrassed by how young and eager he feels. By how much he wants Bressie -- needs him, even.

“After you,” Bressie says, once he seems to realize Niall isn’t going to move immediately. 

“You just want to look at my arse,” Niall says, as he skips around Bressie, trying to shake the uncertainty that’s starting to nag at the back of his mind. There’s no reason to hesitate, or be insecure about this -- about _them_. God knows they’ve been hooking up for long enough -- there’s a reason he’s wearing this jumper and absolutely nothing else. He _wants_ Bressie to look at him. 

“I’m not arguing,” Bressie says, with a burst of laughter that makes Niall’s chest loosen up at the normalcy of it, frantic thoughts dissolving as he smiles and turns towards the bedroom. Before he has a chance to lead the way, Bressie presses against his back, big hand settling on Niall’s narrow waist. “I like you in that top.”

The rough of Bressie’s voice curls around Niall’s spine, making the base of his skull tingle. Niall feels Bressie radiating warmth, feels the way he takes up the space around Niall. 

“It’s comfy,” Niall laughs, wiggling out of Bressie’s hold to dart away.

He only makes it a few feet before Bressie’s tugging him back by his wrist, sharp enough to startle him. The whole world tips as Bressie spins him and picks him up, slinging Niall over his shoulder, easy like he’s got hollow bird bones. 

Niall screeches with laughter and hits at Bressie’s shoulder, but all Bressie does is chuckle, smacking at Niall’s bum jokingly. It’s heavier than a playful tap should be, enough force behind it to make Niall jerk and moan, cheeks flaming even warmer. 

“Like that, petal?” Bressie asks, chest rumbling, smacking at Niall’s arse again. The bottom of his hand hits the sensitive skin of Niall’s thighs, and he’s definitely hard now. If he had any leverage, he’d be cheeky and grind his throbbing cock into Bressie’s shoulder, but he’s using all his strength to hold his upper body so that he’s not hanging there like a sad sack of potatoes. 

“Maybe,” Niall admits, trying to wiggle into a more comfortable position. That earns him another smack, harder this time. Niall moans shamelessly, wondering when the hell _that_ became a thing.

They manage to make it into the bedroom even though Bressie nearly brains Niall on the wall when he turns around to shut the door. He’s still slung over Bressie’s shoulder as Bressie goes to the dresser where his old iPod is sat on the dock and queues up Niall’s favorite playlist. 

When Bressie dumps Niall on the bed, he bounces a couple of times before settling, legs falling apart instinctively. The look Bressie gives him is _hungry_ , eyes dark and wanting. There are twin stains of color high on his cheeks, creeping down his neck. 

His fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, like they’re too thick for him to work. Niall rises to his knees quickly, catching Bressie’s hand. 

“Let me,” he says, feeling hot and tingling and all too aware of the way Bressie’s waiting on him. 

The buttons slide out easier than Niall thought they would; he manages to get Bressie’s shirt open quickly and gracefully, sliding his hands over the bumps of Bressie’s ribs and down his sides, following the sharp vee of his hips to the waistband of his jeans before he pushes Bressie’s shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. 

The hair on Bressie’s chest is thick and dark, and Niall can’t keep himself from scratching down Bressie’s chest, nails catching Bressie’s nipples hard enough to make Bressie hiss. Niall loves that; loves that he can get noises out of Bressie, can make him blush, make his lashes flutter as his eyes slip shut. 

Niall chances a glance Bressie’s face and finds himself being watched with a soft expression. There’s a big hand in his hair, tugging slightly so that Niall tips his head back. Bressie’s other hand is at the hinge of Niall’s jaw, pressing in so that his mouth goes slack, ready to be kissed. 

Bressie keeps a hold of Niall’s hair as he kisses him, tightening his grip as he licks into Niall’s mouth, making Niall groan. Niall feels keyed up and too sensitive already, damn near crawling out of his skin with how much he wants to get fucked, head of his dick catching wetly on the inside of the jumper.

“Brez, c’mon,” Niall says, once Bressie decides to give him room to breathe. He’s got his hand on Bressie’s zipper, tugging it down, but Bressie catches his hand and brings it to his mouth, setting his teeth to the thin skin on the inside of Niall’s wrist. It’s surprisingly sensitive, dick jumping as Bressie bites down and sucks hard.

“Fuck, _Bressie_.”

“Wanna lick you out, first,” Bressie says. “Want you to sit on my face.”

“Oh, is that all?” Niall asks, tongue feeling thick in his throat. He’s all too aware of how hard he is, how much his cock is aching. He wants Bressie in him _yesterday_ , but he’s not going to argue with that. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Bressie says, grin wolfish and sharp in that way he only gets when they’re in bed, and beyond horny. That kind of confidence that makes Niall go all foggy and feel-good. 

“‘Kay, then,” Niall says, knee walking backwards so Bressie can climb on the bed -- with his bloody trousers still on, but beggars can’t be choosers. 

Bressie’s so big, he takes up nearly the whole bed from top to toe, all broad shoulders and thick thighs splayed. Niall drinks him in for a minute, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his skin is red and sex-flushed, the appealing taper of his waist. Niall wants to get his mouth all over him.

“You’re too fuckin’ good looking,” Niall admits, dragging his nails on the inside of Bressie’s thigh, letting his fingers trail over the hot bulge of Bressie’s cock straining at his flies. 

“C’mere, pet,” Bressie says, sounds strained, handing catching Niall’s wrist to tug him up. Niall smirks at him, but complies, swinging his leg over Bressie’s body to straddle his head, turning to face the foot of the bed.

“How’s your knee?” Bressie asks, dragging his hands over Niall’s thighs, palming the width of them to tug Niall’s knees apart a bit more.

“Fine,” Niall says, putting shifting his weight and sinking into his knees a bit more. It’s alright at the moment, not sore or anything. 

“Good,” Bressie comments, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Niall’s thigh. It’s a simple thing, but Niall’s body tingles, keyed up and ready.

Niall watches as Bressie unzips, pushing down his trousers and pants to free his cock. It’s a monster of a thing, really -- thick and uncut, red and swollen. A string of precome connects the head to Bressie’s belly and Niall’s mouth waters, he wants to lean forward and take Bressie’s cock in his mouth, feel his lips stretch around it. 

“You gunna hold yourself open f’r me?” Bressie asks, big hands already palming Niall’s arse cheeks roughly, gripping and groping. Niall face burns as he considers it, his own hands keeping himself open while Bressie licks into him. He feels too hot and squirmy just thinking about.

“Might need to hold meself up,” Niall says, knowing the way his thighs will start to burn after too long. It feels like too much to do it himself, too vulnerable or something -- which is ridiculous considering how he’s sat _on Bressie’s face_ , but --

“Alright,” Niall hears, as Bressie spread his cheeks with the pads of his fingers; a bruising grip that Niall knows he’ll feel later. Niall’s back arches instinctively as Bressie prods at his rim with a thick thumb, body blooming open for him. 

“Already loose,” Bressie comments, with a satisfied hum. His teeth scrape against Niall’s right cheek before he bites down, making Niall yelp and hump forward before he pushes back again. Bressie’s thumb slides inside of him the tiniest bit, making Niall keen. 

“Had to get ready,” Niall says, panting. The air is already too hot, tight around him. Claustrophobic-like, if claustrophobia were sexy at all. “Dunno if you know, but you got a beast between your legs, head.”

Bressie just chuckles and starts to lick at him with his spit-slick tongue, softly at first, lapping at Niall to get him wet and relaxed. His stubble scrapes over Niall’s skin, rough and exhilarating. Niall knows he’ll have beard burn between his legs, knows it’ll sting in the best way.

Niall pulls the hem of the jumper clear of his cock, knowing he won’t come unless his dick gets the proper attention. He could ride Bressie’s tongue and fingers and prick all day, but his body will refuse to come until he’s wanked off. 

It’s better for him, makes him last longer when Bressie feels like drawing things out. It makes his whole body vibrate, easily overstimulated. He loves the way it feels, the way his nerves grate a little too much, a little too harshly. Likes the way it takes him out of his head, makes him dive into the moment and cling to it. 

He loves it like this, knees shaking around Bressie’s head as he tries to keep from grinding down on Bressie’s chin. Bressie gets him nice and sloppy and wet. It’s quiet except for the slick noises of Bressie’s mouth and Niall’s loud panting, little hitching moans that stop at the top of his throat.

He feels so exposed, poised over Bressie, legs spread wide and slutty, the needy arch of his back. Every so often, Bressie shifts his grip, spreading Niall open even further. Niall can feel himself unfurl, relaxing little by little even as the muscles in his legs bunch and strain. 

He’s clawing his own thighs up for something to ground him, feels Bressie flex his fingers and dig his nails in a bit when Niall can’t stop himself from rocking back against Bressie’s tongue. Bressie starts fucking his tongue in and out of Niall’s hole like he wants Niall to bounce on his face. Niall grinds down shallowly, feeling the tension that’s wound up tightly in his chest.

“Fuck, fuck,” Niall says, voice cracking like a whip in the heavy silence of the room. He feels like he’s going to crawl out of his skin with the way Bressie’s tongue is prodding at him incessantly. It’s quick, but aimless, licking Niall out for the sake of licking him out. 

Tension builds up in the pit of his stomach, balls drawing up, but Niall knows it’s not enough, know’s he’ll teeter on the edge for however long Bressie wants him to. All the air is stuck up in Niall’s chest, like he can’t breathe, but he doesn’t want to breathe -- too caught up in the burn in his muscles, the clench of his belly, fit to burst out of his skin.

It doesn’t take too long for Niall to fall forward, thighs trembling with the strain of holding up his own weight while his muscles try to liquify from how good he feels with Bressie’s mouth on his arse, sucking at his rim. 

He drops his palms on either side of Bressie’s huge barrel chest, elbows rubbery. He redistributes his weight so he’s only slightly vibrating instead of outright shaking and shoves his arse back in Bressie’s face, demanding. 

Bressie makes a noise of agreement and shifts his grip on Niall’s cheeks again, opening him up further. His mouth gets louder. Niall can feel spit drip down his crack, trailing down his ball sack. His cock’s heavy between his legs, barely brushing Bressie’s furry chest. He wants to grind down so badly, but he keeps himself up, desperate to come on Bressie’s cock. 

“Fuck, please, Brez,” Niall whimpers, gripping the bedspread tightly. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, just knows that he needs more. He’s crawling out of his fucking skin every time Bressie’s tongue licks over him. “Fuck, c’mon.” 

He’s burning up in the jumper, sweat under his arms and at his hairline. It makes everything more intense, suffocating and overwhelming. Niall feels like sobbing, solid brick of neediness sitting heavy in his gut. 

“You gotta fuck me, Brez,” Niall whines, about ready to collapse on Bressie’s big chest. “Want your cock in me.”

Bressie pulls off with a sound that’s embarrassingly like a slurp. Niall can feel the fast rise and fall of his chest, the puffs of breath over his spit-slick hole. He doesn’t bother waiting for Bressie to give him the go ahead, just rolls off and lies on his back, trying to catch his breath. 

“Alright, petal?” Bressie asks, looking at Niall. His mouth is swollen and red and soft looking, properly abused. Niall sits up and kisses him before he can think twice about, teeth nipping at Bressie’s bottom lip so he can tug on it. 

“As rain,” Niall sighs, as he pulls away. Bressie palms the back of his head, rubbing it slightly before he grips the hair on the top of Niall’s head and tugs, making Niall whimper. Bressie licks into his mouth again, sucks on Niall’s tongue with an appreciative hum.

“Feelin’ good?” he asks, pulling away and sliding his hand down to hold the back of Niall’s neck possessively. It makes Niall feel warm all over, safe while his heads floats off a bit. 

“‘Course,” Niall says, blinking away the heaviness. “Now, where the fuck is the lube? I’m gettin’ old, here.”

“ _You’re_ gettin’ old?” Bressie asks, with a snort. He twists to push his trousers off the rest of the way, until he’s naked -- all pale skin and mouth-watering muscles. Niall watches his ass flex as he turns to get the lube from the top drawer of his dresser, watches the way his hard cock strains out when he comes back to the bed.

Niall squirms around so he’s right-side up, head at the headboard. The jumper slides up his stomach, revealing the soft curve of his tummy. Bressie kneels on the mattress again and follows the hem, running his hands over Niall’s hips and chest. He pinches a nipple and rolls it between his fingers, making Niall groan and arch. 

Bressie grins, dropping the lube to the side and shouldering Niall’s legs. They spread wide and accommodating.

Bressie pushes the jumper up to Niall’s armpits and leans down, beard scraping against Niall’s chest as he sucks on one of Niall’s nipples, coaxing it to hardness with his tongue. Niall groans, hips humping forward, trying to get some friction. 

Bressie’s big enough to keep himself from brushing up against Niall’s prick, so Niall’s just pushing up at the air aimlessly as Bressie leaves an impressive love bite on the curve of his pec. Bressie gives the other nipple the same treatment, until Niall’s skin is rubbed raw from his stubble, nipples hard and sensitive. 

Niall barely notices Bressie’s hand between his legs until a slick finger is circling his rim, pressing forward. Niall arches helplessly, so fucking ready for it. 

“Oh god, yes, fuck,” he says, screwing his eyes shut tightly as Bressie presses forward. He’s loose enough from getting licked out that Bressie pulls out and fucks two fingers back in. Niall arches and clenches down appreciatively. 

“You could speed up,” Niall says, because Bressie’s fingering him with a slow precision that’s driving Niall out of his mind. He wants Bressie’s cock in him as soon as possible, and Bressie’s just staring at him with hot eyes, watching Niall grind his hips down on his fingers. “Get your dick in me.”

Niall’s so turned on, he can hear himself slurring around a thicker version of his accent. He’s still sweating in the jumper, skin hot and tight and prickling with want. He _needs_ Bressie in him, he’s aching for it, desperate to feel Bressie inside him.

At this point, he thinks it might be some sort of Freudian fixation, but he's going to _die_ without Bressie’s huge dick in him, so who cares what Freud thinks.

“Impatient lad,” Bressie chastises, but he’s reaching for the lube and slicking up again. Excitement makes Niall’s tummy clench up, but he exhales, relaxing for three of Bressie’s thick fingers. 

“No condom,” Niall reminds him, when Bressie’s prepped him enough and Niall’s about ready to roll them over and ride Bressie instead of waiting around. “Wanna feel you in me, want y’ to come in me.”

“Fuck, _Niall_ ,” Bressie exhales, watching him like he’s some sort of miracle. Niall’s stomach flips at the use of his name, far too accustomed to pet names from Bressie. 

“Shuddup,” he mutters, hauling Bressie in by the shoulders. Their foreheads press together as they both look down, watching Bressie drag the fat head of his cock up Niall’s crack and over his hole, collect lube at the top. 

They both watch as he pushes in, tip disappearing into Niall’s body. 

Niall feels the blunt pressure at his center, punching the breath out from his lungs. He gasps and tries to remember to breathe. It’s been so fucking long since he’s had Bressie inside of him, it’s like the first time every time -- even with copious prep, it’s like he’s being cored, split open on Bressie’s thick dick. 

Tears spring to the corners of his eyes as Bressie slides in all the way, buried to the hilt, pelvises pressed together. His thighs are all scraped up from Bressie's beard, his rim feels abused and sensitive -- it’s almost enough to overwhelm Niall completely, but takes a deep shuddering breath and circles his hips, digging the heel of his foot into Bressie’s back to signal that he’s ready. 

Bressie’s watching him with his serious eyes again, heavily hooded from arousal, but dead serious and dark, pupils blown wide open. 

Niall wonders what he looks like. Hair a right mess, red blooming all over his skin. He knows that even his knuckles are pink, the dip of his throat, the tips of his ears; one big strawberry while he’s getting fucked, all sex-flushed and needy. 

He can’t stop making noises now, whimpering and moaning as soon as Bressie starts to move. Bressie’s running his hands all over Niall’s torso, fitting his huge, square palms along Niall’s ribs, pinning him in place as he fucks in with a steady pace. Niall’s cock bobs on every thrust, tip bright red and shining with precome. 

The jumper’s heavy, bunched up under him, but he doesn’t dare stop Bressie to fix it. The slide of his dick is too good, Niall loses himself in it; staccato breaths getting louder and louder as Bressie starts to fuck into him hard, rising up on his knees and folding Niall clean in half. 

It’s so fucking good. The burn of the stretch, the lava hot sensation that shoots up his spine every time Bressie gets the angle right and skates over Niall’s prostate. Niall whimpers and arches the small of his back and chants Bressie’s name like he forgot language entirely. 

Bressie’s grunting, red and sweaty, and it’s so hot. The furrow of his brow, the way he bites into his plush bottom lip. Niall reels him in by his shoulders and Bressie obeys, dropping down so they can kiss, weight settling over Niall heavily. 

Niall’s cock brushes Bressie’s stomach on each thrust and he cries out, sensitive and aching, _needing_ to come. It’s not enough though, too light of a touch. Niall digs his nails into Bressie’s back, scratching down the sweat-slippery skin. 

Bressie growls at him, nosing his head to the side so he can sink his teeth into Niall’s neck, sucking a hickey right up high where anyone could see it. 

“Brez, Brez,” Niall whimpers, voice wrecked and needy. “I need to come, I need --”

Bressie pulls out, leaving Niall whining as he clenches down on nothing, confused. Bressie flips him over easily, pulling his hips up so his ass is in the air, and slides in again before shoving Niall face-first into the mattress. 

Niall’s body drops, cock pressing into the blankets, pressure soothing the ache and sting of how fucking hard he is. There’s a big hand on the back of his neck, holding him down while Bressie fucks into him, long length of his cock slamming into Niall over and over. 

There’s enough pressure on his dick to have him squirming and whining, desire to come building up the pit of his stomach, right at the core of him. It’s electric up his spine, stifling. Bressie’s grip tightens on him like he can sense it, dicking into Niall harder. 

There are tears in Niall’s eyes, body wound tight with the need to come, the need to let go. 

“Come for me, baby,” Bressie says, chest touching Niall’s back, lining them up and pressing Niall into the mattress even further. “Cream yourself without even being touched, just my dick in your arse, filling you up --”

That’s what does it. Bressie’s rough voice so close, the feeling of him at Niall’s back, being _told_ to come -- Niall comes with a shout, body shuddering and trembling as his prick rubs against the blanket under him, oversensitive and throbbing. Bressie doesn’t let him up, keeps fucking into him, hard and fast. It’s so good, rubbed raw and grating and _perfect_. 

When Bressie finally comes, he grunts loudly, breath punching out of him. Niall moans with him, unable to help himself, knot of tension in his gut untangling with relief. His muscles are still quaking from the aftershocks and strain, but he tries to steady himself, pressing his face into the mattress, gasping.

Bressie draws out gingerly, and Niall can feel the mess slip out, the lube and come all on the curve of his arse and between his thighs. 

There’s an ache at the base of Niall’s spine, and it feels better than anything.

Bressie rolls him over all gentle like, fingers slipping between his cheeks to softly circle his rim and check for tearing. Niall trembles as he does, nerves wrung out and still tripping like livewires. 

The jumper’s a wet mess of come and sweat. He peels it off and flings it over the side of the bed, letting his skin cool. Bressie lingers over him, hands big and warm -- one on the curve of Niall’s hip, the other pressing on his jaw so Bressie can kiss him. 

“How do you feel, chief?” Bressie asks, after they’ve kissed softly for a long minute, lips and tongues moving together lazily, winding them down. 

“So fuckin’ good, babe,” Niall says, letting the endearment slip, head heavy with sleep. He realizes it a second later, body going hot with embarrassment, but he doesn’t retract it or say anything else. Bressie lets it slide, slipping from bed to grab a flannel. 

Niall buries his face in the closest pillow and groans softly. Pet names and endearments are more Bressie’s thing, Niall doesn’t really… nicknames, yeah, but _babe_. That’s the first time he’s called anyone babe in a long time. 

And, of course, it was right after Bressie got done fucking Niall into the mattress. Of course, it was. Niall laughs at himself, ignoring the flare of mortification. Bressie will just have to fuckin’ deal -- if he doesn’t know Niall’s half in love with him by now, he’s a bloody moron. 

“Don’t pass out on me yet,” Bressie says, coming back into the room. Niall turns to watch him walk towards the bed. His hair’s a sweaty wreck, face and chest still red. His cock is soft, hanging thickly between his legs. The muscles in his thighs flex attractively as he walks and Niall’s so gone for him the sight of his soft smile is making his chest ache. 

“Wouldn’t dream ‘f it,” Niall lies, eyes heavy with exhaustion, body wrung out. Bressie chuckles at him and sets about cleaning him up, running the flannel over him, mindful of how sensitive Niall is between his legs before tossing the rag on the ground. 

He settles over Niall again, leaning down to kiss him firmly. The press of his mouth makes Niall’s stomach go funny in the same way it always does. He kinda wants to get it up again, see if he can grind off on Bressie’s thigh while they make out, but he knows he’s going to pass out any moment now.

Bressie seems to sense it and pulls away, settling next to him and tucking Niall into the curve of his body. 

“‘M usually big spoon,” Niall complains, only half kidding. Bressie’s teeth dig into the meat of his shoulder sharply, making him yelp and gasp out a laugh. 

“Shut it, you,” he says, before he presses his lips over the bite to sooth it. “You’ll live.”

“Might not,” Niall says. Mumbles, really, sinking down into sleep. Bressie’s warm and solid and comfortable, and maybe he doesn’t mind being his little spoon, not really. 

“G’night, babe,” Niall hears Bressie whisper, right before he drops off to sleep. 

 

 

Once he’s safely back in LA, Niall posts a video of himself playing his guitar to his Instagram. It’s the song he was picking away at Bressie’s house, a little faster and a little more complicated, a little wistful and a little hopeful. 

He’s sat on his couch in Bressie’s too-big jumper. This time he’s wearing trousers. 

It’s a not-so-subtle way of letting Bressie to know he stole the jumper from him before he left. A not-so-subtle way of letting him know that the song’s for him as well. 

It takes a couple hours, but Bressie texts him, _your a menace_. 

Niall bites down on a grin and shoots back a _but you love me_ , heart beating high in his chest. He laughs outright when the next message comes through, blushing hotly even though there’s no one else in the room.

 _Damn right i do_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> copyright to Jo for the killer line about Freud, I love you.
> 
> [fic tag (main tumblr)](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/tagged/sweater-weather). [nessie tumblr](http://bressieniall.tumblr.com/). come talk to me about Nessie or somethin' idk.  
> thank you for reading!


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